Starblade (16 page)

It grated on the Shotar as it always had the
casual manner in which Styx used the term 'brother'. Styx presumed
to behave in such a familiar manner since the very first time they
had met. Sharr did not like such presumptions. Kvaltar, Shuriken,
and Atar. Now they were his brothers of spirit. Not Styx.

Sharr noticed Vron glare. Kvaltar had always
thought Erik Ballinger to be somewhat schizoid, as, at any single
one moment he could be a devout Christian or a studied Heathen.
Certainly the enhancements helped further along that annoying
personality trait. Not a good thing in a Bishop who commanded monks
willing to die for his cause.

Ballinger first came into contact with Sharr
when they both were Germanic Heathens. Though neither stayed among
the Troth. In the end they returned to their roots. For Erik
Ballinger, that was the Church. Though he remained just a bit out
of sync with his Christian doctrines to later join the Techatron
Union. When The Singularity struck and the Techatron Union's AI,
Omicron had taken over its members, each had minor neural implants,
Erik had irrevocably been transformed into Styx. Sharr though
blamed himself for the plague of the Budjah that had now been
unleashed upon the world. None of it would have taken place without
what Styx had learned during his time dwelling with Falcanians as a
would be member. He did not only distort the Bible, but the Telchar
Shanral as well. Its even where he took the name of his Order
from.

“Come to your point, Erik. I have other
matters needing my attention,” Sharr demanded.

“Giovanni wants to know about your fleet,”
Styx said.

“Fleet?”

“You’re FS-9 Raptors, Sharr. Do not bother
to deny it!” the monk accused. “Giovanni thinks you might become a
threat to his power.”

“What do you want?” Sharr asked the most
dangerous question in the world. With Styx, there was always an
offer to be made. A catch to leave him in peace. What would be
Styx's price? Sharr Khan was more than aware of his own price.
History had denied his enemies use of that though.

“I want converts and to bring the faith to
the unenlightened.”

“You had my response at Aren-Zülar. There
will be no Falcanian converts.” With that declaration, Sharr cut
the connection.

Any Falcanian could easily perch himself
upon the wall and see the sacred Rishaak trees. A procession of
Valküri entered the bulwark garden standing within the precinct of
their Sisterhood's temple. Two wrought gates of twisted silver
bisected its round slopped walls with an armed Valküri priestess on
either side.

Verdant pitches within the garden were
topped by weeping trees, covered with long purple fronds, the bark
of the knurled trees twisted in circles, as though to be some kind
of intricate organic knotwork. Rather than brown and woody, the
tree's bark had a subtle reflective platinum color, like burnished
metal. Oblong crystalline yellow fruit hung from the branches. A
priestess cared after each tree. Valküri Sisters poured water and
various secret mixtures onto the deep roots of the hallowed
ligneous plant in order to help the maturing fruit that served as
the life-blood of the Falcanian being.

Frederika broke away from Sitara once she
noticed the silver gates and the walled garden. The princess had to
conduct a personal puja before a large Persian cat face named Kieva
which Frederika would later learn to be the tatter-eared cat
general and companion of Arntiraas.

Clearly the Valküri Sisters were not about
to allow Frederika into the garden as they placed hands on Kraris
blades at her arrival near the gate. But they did not prevent
Frederika from peeking between the elaborately carved bars. She
felt the eyes of the Valküri Sisters study her while she took in
the devotion toward the Rishaak trees.

What were the value of these plants? She did
not expect a straight answer from her Princess guide.

“They're beautiful, aren't they?”

Frederika looked at the princess who had
finished her puja. “Ja. They are most resplendent, very unusual. I
have never seen such trees before.”

“I am sure you have not,” Sitara said,
barely hiding a half-grin.

An awkward hush hung between the Princess
and the dancer.

“They are Rishaak trees,” Sitara at last
said. “Their fruit is very sweet, and difficult to cultivate.”

More difficult than one could imagine. Only
the Valküri Sisterhood held the secret of the seeds of the Rishaak
trees. Only the Valküri knew how to cultivate the plants and the
fruit that was of such value to the Falcanian people.

Sitara wished to distract the human girl and
pulled Frederika with her back to the large black cat face of
Kieva. Together the two women placed a garland before Arntiraas's
feline companion.

[New York: Evening, Palace Of The
Imperator]

“
I can hear you. The rest of the world
hears you. And the people who knocked these buildings down will
hear all of us soon.”
President George W. Bush declared from
among the wreckage of the World Trade Center. Firemen and rescue
workers stood all around him, the bullhorn clasped firmly in his
hand. Julius Romulus Giovanni waited among the crowd and gazed up
at the newly elected President. He was proud of the man, could feel
the conviction in his words.

A huge mushroom cloud filled his vision.
Romulus rolled over in his bed. The later half of his adult life
was haunted by the destruction of the most powerful nation in the
world.

“
Sir, Major Giovanni! All communication
with Washington have broken down.”

“
That’s not possible Lieutenant
Brigs!”

“
I know, sir! But the line of succession
is in doubt. There is no civilian government left.”

Romulus sat up shaken from the dream and
looked around his elaborately appointed rooms. His bones ached from
his time wandering in the wastelands of his broken nation which
left a legacy within his body. Inhaling particulate matter ripe
with chemicals had left him with a strange bone and blood
illness.

He was dying. And he had a very short time
left to complete his mission.

Trophies of his conquests from across the
planet filled his room. A mausoleum to the past. Body armor of
troops from Canada and Mexico hung on the gray walls. A box of
Castro's cigars were locked in a preservation chamber and sat not
far from his bed. Antique guns, useless in battle now in this age
of The Singularity and its advanced technologies rested in cases.
His own M-16 mounted reverently on a wall beside the first official
Centurion armor he had commissioned upon the founding of his
city.

His chief prize sat in a special case. The
Seal of The Republic and a crown of laurels used at General
Washington’s own inauguration had been taken from the ruins of the
Smithsonian Institution, which he himself unearthed from beneath
the wreckage of The Burn. Romulus greatly admired the father of his
nation and saw himself very much like a Washington.

The general's three terms had been a golden
age. When Washington at last left the Palace Of The People, his
successor, Ezekiel Shepherd, granted him the rank of a six-star
general and title: “General of the Armies of the United
States”.

“So little time left,” he whispered.

Giovanni pondered what he had built and
doubted his righteous fury for a moment. He did not entertain the
idea for long, that he might have been wrong in his actions. Such
self-doubt was not worthy of the Imperium he fashioned.

The bell chimed the late hour. He leaned
back and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. Stars were painted upon
its convex, seeing them above his head reminded the Imperator of
the
DSV Excalibur
, it gave the him a new hope.

“
Sir, the Secretary of Energy has
arrived,” Jason Brigs informed his commander while he escorted the
Secretary of Energy into the operations center. The other man gave
the officer a harsh look.“I mean, this is his Excellency the
President.”

“
Thank you, Brigs.” Major Giovanni
glanced up from his place in his provisional headquarters at the
small balding man who had dressed himself in the best suit that he
could find under the tragic circumstances.

“
Major, as you know I am the last of the
cabinet left.” Elliot Raiger informed his senior most military
officer.

Romulus did not like the man, a desk jockey
and no better then any of the men who had gotten them into this
conflagration with their cowardice. “It would seem that you are now
our President.”

Very soon, after Raiger had been placed in a
stockade, and left there to rot while Major J.R. Giovanni began his
first steps of the plan which came to him like a religious
conversion, he marched out into the broken world with his soldiers
behind him and brought enlightenment to the populace in the form of
his disciplined Legion.

[Vorkrür City, Mid Afternoon]

“Falcanian shall not kill Falcanian. Thus it
is written in the Kulsharr Kahran, our greatest law, our zealous
affirmation that we do not prey upon our own kind. We’re a noble
species, chosen of the Telchar.” The orator stood in the center of
the amphitheater with arms outstretched, his voice boomed against
the walls. “Loyalty binds us all, sworn to each other to protect
our race. We are Falcanians, children of the Phoenix. So decreed
our liege Lord Sharr himself in his preamble to our most holy
compact.”

At the orator’s assertion cheers from the
crowd went up. Silver-winged and metallic haired, the orator walked
the stage. All eyes were on the man enrobed in black vestments,
festooned with red sashes and many chains of his office that
glinted in the sunlight. These were the traditional accouterments
of a Falcanian Darr-Varth.

Frederika leaned over to Sitara as they
listened to the powerful speech. “Who is the speaker?”

“Jerath Tariksar, governor of Vorkrür City,”
the princess whispered. “Famed for his oratory skills, he’s head of
the ThunderHawk Jirga –“

“ThunderHawk Jirga?”

“Think of it like a House of Commons,”
Sitara said. “Actually, this is a remnant of what my father
originally set out as our government many years ago. Before the
Dreikatha came to be. Here every Aerie-Watcher or citizen can give
voice to his or her concerns.”

Atar Kran strode into the assembly, a
battalion of his Drakorian following close behind him. He stepped
up the dais as Governor Tariksar continued his oration without a
pause. The Drakorian acted as vice-chairmen of the Jirga, aside
from his command of the Imperial Guard Atar specialized in
Falcanian law.

“Und ThunderHawk? What does that mean?”

Sitara’s violet eyes twinkled. “It's our
document of government. It lays out our ethics, culture and law.
This assembly is a replication of the Naran’s first jirga held
among the rocks. There they pledged allegiance to one another and
to the cause of Falcania. Each new generation at their majority
affirms the conventions of the ThunderHawk Compact here this day.
As one people and one blood, they are united by our belief in the
law of the compact.”

“There’s almost a religious fervor in it,”
the dancer murmured.

“That’s not by chance Rika. My father
intended it.”

[Unknown Space: DSV Excalibur]

Cole sat in his cabin and stared at the blue
writing on his monitor. The crew had already been briefed about why
they had come out here. For the most part, they reacted well when
they learned that they had come out to deep space for a first
contact mission. A few were doubtful about the whole business.
Braden counted himself among those who thought this all a very bad
idea. The goal of the mission was what bothered him most. Had the
Imperator lost his mind? To bring aliens into the affairs of Earth
reeked of madness.

Braden did not want to be a part of this nor
did his XO LaSalle who always had a sense of honor and this mission
was not at all honorable. A power struggle brewed back home. Minor
kings vied for control of Earth. The introduction of aliens into
human affairs, or for that matter Transhuman doings, could prove
lethal. Cole knew this, but duty trapped him. Soon the Iksar'rang
would arrive and Trajan would open negotiations. Once the Centurion
got involved, he would lose control of the outcome.

Oddly enough, Cole dwelled on the encounter
with the Falcanian FS-9 Raptor. Little was known about that group,
hidden away on an island in the Indian Ocean. He had reports from
the few who did meet with them and then there was the matter of the
Kashmir Campaign that had reincorporated Pakistan into India.
Apparently the Falcanian Khanate had something to do with that
minor conflict.

A call from the bridge interrupted Cole's
thoughts and he left them behind in his cabin as he made his way to
the command center. It seemed the Iksar'rang waited out there in
the darkness.

“Oh, man!” The sensor officer exclaimed as
he looked at the ship on the viewer. A monster, almost organic,
flat and worm-like, its outer shell studded by weaponry. Smaller,
similar support vessels scurried about the Iksar'rang ship. “They
do not appear to use a foldspace drive,” the sensor officer
reported to Cole as he gloomily leaned back in his chair.

“What do you mean?”

“Some kind of wormhole technology.” The
sensor officer cleared his throat. “Ah, pardon the pun, sir. The
ship just appeared out of no place. Well, really not no place.
Hyperspace maybe?”

Commander LaSalle came up behind Braden.
“That is a planet killer, Captain.” His voice shaky as he peered at
the alien ship. “What do we do now?”

“I don't know. This would be our first alien
contact. I haven’t been given a procedure to follow.”